Business as Usual
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: It never ends at Stalag 13...Entry for the 4th Hogan's Heroes Short-Story Speed-Writing Contest.


_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Written as an entry for 96 Hubbles' Speed-Writing challenge, and it also includes a self-imposed challenge. See if you can guess what it is; extra credit if you can guess it and you were born after 1980!

First line is from _A Tale of Two Cities,_ by Charles Dickens.

* * *

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. And at Stalag 13, it was the busiest of times.

Hogan was glad his men had something to keep them occupied, and heaven knew that each successful mission helped them to keep up their morale. And they say if you want something done, ask a busy person to do it. But there were limits to how much his team could handle, weren't there?

Not only was there a rocket in the compound (again!), there were three downed fliers in the tunnels, Burkhalter had a plan to oust Klink, the Hammelburg underground was being threatened, Crittendon was on the loose, and the mysterious Marya had brought an extremely important royal personage to visit the stalag.

And now, as Hogan looked up from the common room table, he saw Kinch emerge from the bunk tunnel entrance. Kinch activated the mechanism to close it once more, and then walked over to Hogan. He had a note in his hand, written on the ubiquitous blue paper.

"This one's for you, sir," said Kinch, handing Hogan the paper. "I can't believe London sees fit to give us a new mission at a time like this. It's like they know we're so busy, and they're taunting us! But how could they know?"

"Could it be magic?" Hogan wondered, and then he glanced at the bunk entrance with a frown. "The boys not back yet?" When Kinch shook his head, Hogan looked down at the note, and then yelped. "This is ridiculous! Impossible! A battalion of commandos couldn't take care of this problem!"

"Even now," said Kinch, shaking his head, "after all this time, I am amazed at what London expects of us." He eyed Hogan for a moment, and then a reluctant smile appeared. "So when do we move, sir?"

"Daybreak."

At that very moment, the bunk hiding the tunnel entrance shot up, and three very muddy and bedraggled figures climbed out.

"Looks like we made it," gasped LeBeau as he flopped onto his bunk, unheeding of his damp and filthy clothing.

"It's a miracle," said Carter. He turned and slapped the side of the upper bunk to restore it to its normal position. "Two Gestapo patrols, and a division of SS! Boy, I don't know _how_ we made it."

"I made it through the rain," grumbled Newkirk, as he pulled off his black knit cap and wrung it out. "Why is it we 'ave to plan these missions on the worst bloody nights of the year, guv'nor?"

"Somewhere down the road," mused Hogan, "I'll have to figure out a way to control the weather so you aren't inconvenienced so much, Newkirk." Despite his flippancy, he was more than relieved to see that his men had returned safely. But there were still pressing issues to be dealt with here in camp. He turned to Olsen, who was busily scribbling on a notepad. "How is the music coming along for the diversion, Olsen? Maybe you could hum a few bars for us."

"I write the songs," replied Olsen. "I don't sing 'em. But I need some inspiration from you guys. Say, Carter, I could write a song about your girlfriend at the Hofbrau...what was her name?"

"Mandy," said Newkirk, then, after catching a fulminating glance from Carter, quickly corrected himself. "Sorry, chum - it was Mady, wasn't it? Blimey, my feet are frozen!" He pulled off his boots and started walking around the room, stamping his feet.

His assembled bunkmates watched him, perplexed at his odd behavior.

"Tryin' to get the feeling again," explained Newkirk. "Got to get the old circulation going, don't I? Well, stop staring at me! Can't you lot do something productive, like 'elping Olsen with 'is songs? Colonel, you must 'ave some pleasant memories 'e could write about."

"Weekend in New England," said Hogan, with a dreamy look on his face. "Cozy little inn, crackling fire, bottle of champagne, gorgeous brunette...well, you get the idea. Kinch, what are you smiling at?"

"Can't smile without you wondering, huh?" Kinch chuckled. "I was just thinking that most of my pleasant memories lately have involved getting the best of the Krauts. Like tonight, with Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau managing to evade the patrols."

The three muddy adventurers grinned at each other. They _had _been exceptionally clever this evening in dealing with a dangerous situation.

"Somewhere in the night," said LeBeau, "there are _Boches_ running around in the woods, saying to themselves: 'Where are the villains who managed to blow up that bridge? They have vanished into thin air!' "

"Ships," said Carter. Then, at their puzzled looks, he added, "Ships that pass in the night, that's us. They went in one direction, and we went in another. And they never got a glimpse of us, Colonel."

Hogan grinned. Overburdened they might be, with cares and responsibilities coming at them from all sides. But they had done well this night, and he was sure they would rise to the occasion once more. Grumbling, of course, and bordering on insubordination, but they would come through as they always did. He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, and then back up at the members of his team, all of whom were watching him expectantly. And he knew what their answer would be, even before he asked the question.

"Ready to take a chance again?"

* * *

_A/N: My sincere apologies to Barry Manilow._


End file.
